


breakfast and butterflies

by sweetlyinfinite



Series: Weekdays [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Breakfast, Kissing, M/M, fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlyinfinite/pseuds/sweetlyinfinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has butterflies on the inside and makes Harry breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breakfast and butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for Amy, a very darling friend of mine, who I wrote something similar for and changed the words 'round a bit. :)

It’s Monday. Louis hates Monday’s. But today almost feels like an exception because he’s soft and light and his soul is warm and there are butterflies dancing familiarly everywhere on the inside and there’s a pair of heavy and secure arms around his waist that hold him down and trap the butterflies and makes him feel like he’s at home. There’s a large slice of the sun peeking through the gap in the floral curtains and it makes Louis feel uncomfortably warm, but he lays there for a minute or two on his side just to admire the way the sun lights up the bedroom with even the smallest of slivers and wait for the butterflies to calm.

 

 Then Louis’ stomach growls and he nearly laughs, but he doesn’t because Harry’s sleeping and it would be rude to wake him because he hates Monday’s almost as much as Louis does. So he does his best to slip out from under Harry’s arms, and untangle his legs carefully. Harry makes a muffled sound into the pillow and Louis watches adoringly as he rolls around in his sleep trying to find the warm body that was just in his arms. His face scrunches up a little when he can't, but Louis presses a quiet kiss to his forehead and the creases disappear and his eyelids flutter and he’s beautiful.

 

Louis puts one of Harry’s band t-shirts on and shimmies into a pair of grey sweats, tugging on slippers as he walks into the kitchen. There aren't any curtains or blinds in the kitchen, so it’s bright and colourful and Louis’ glad he let Harry talk him into buying this place with him because it’s perfect and the butterflies are still trembling. Louis thinks for a moment, before deciding to go all out with breakfast this morning, selecting the flour and sugar and eggs from the pantry and going to the fridge to find the milk, butter, berries, bacon and whipped cream, setting all these items on the counter before getting to work, even though it’s only six in the morning.

 

When Harry comes out, it’s half past seven and his brown strands are cutely ruffled and he’s yawning widely and Louis’ own tangled hair has been coated with several ingredients and there’s flour everywhere but Harry isn't wearing anything but black sweatpants and Louis gets lost at the sight of him for a second and the butterflies beat their wings harder against the walls of his stomach. Harry comes up behind him as he whips quickly, hands going around Louis’ waist once again and settling there comfortably, his chin going over Louis’ shoulder. He tilts his face sideways to kiss softly into Louis’ neck before his rough morning voice scratches out, “I love you, Lou.”

 

The butterflies are in Louis’ throat because he still can't believe he’s this lucky to have such a person but then he laughs quietly because Harry’s wonderful and sweet and warm. “Love you too, Harry. Now get off me before I hit you with pancake batter.”

 

And he laughs hotly into Louis’ neck before removing himself and instead going to plop himself into a stool next to the island bench. Harry watches him whip the creamy mix until, “You look lovely, babe. You’re really gorgeous, you know?”

 

Louis blushes lightly because he’s self-conscious, the butterflies fluttering as quickly as they ever have, and he deems his mix ready to use. “Thank you, love, but I think you’ll find I'm not.”

 

Harry doesn’t reply, but hops off his bar stool and wanders away. Louis doesn’t notice, focusing more on not burning anything in his multiple pans and trying to cease the flapping of butterflies more than where his boyfriend is. By the time he gets back from wherever he went, Louis’ hair looks even messier and more disastrous than before with bits of pancake mix and he’s wondering what time it is and if he can afford to be late to work. Harry spins Louis around so his back is on the kitchen counter and Harry seems to be more beautiful than before. He looks at Louis, then smiles as widely as he can and the sparkle in his eye makes Louis’ soul slightly warmer and then he asks, “Can we eat yet? I think I might die if I don’t eat soon.”

 

So Louis smiles and smacks his arms away lightly, telling him to take a seat and wait a moment. He complies immediately, turning around with a wink and swaying his bum over-dramatically as he literally swaggers over to the dining table. The laugh pulled from Louis’ throat is loud and care-free and makes Harry’s smile bigger and Louis remembers he’s in a band and today is a rare day off so he doesn’t have to go in to work at all today.

 

Within moments, he’s placing several plates of hot food on the table consisting of bacon, eggs (fried and scrambled), blueberry pancakes and even a few scones. All of these are accompanied by different sauces and jams and an arrangement of drinks and Harry’s grin is so large Louis think it may blind him (or at least make his heart stop).

 

Louis and Harry eat breakfast through idle chatter, neither of them caring too much about anything but filling their stomachs and this is when the butterflies settle quietly. Just as Louis finishes off a scone with cream and blackberry jam, Harry suddenly pulls Louis into his lap and his blue eyes are wide and Harry’s so pretty and Louis’ hands rest on his bare shoulders and his golden body is radiating warmth very much like the sun and Louis feels like he’s drowning in the depths of his green eyes that remind him of summer days at the park playing football when he was younger.

 

“I love you,” Harry says for the second time this morning, and somehow this is sweeter, softer, more him, and before Louis can reply Harry’s mouth is on his and Harry’s soft and warm and syrupy and tasting like pancakes and coffee and he’s lovely and Louis’ heart is fluttery like the butterflies and burning bright hues of red and orange and he’s glowing as their lips slot together delicately and perfectly and they kiss that way for the rest of the morning, languid and gentle, until Louis’ lips are sore and bruised and his mouth is dry and even then all he does is clean up breakfast together before jumping in the shower as Harry catches up with their band mates on what’s happening with their show the next night and when Louis’ dressed Harry strolls into the bed room, laughing on the phone.

 

“They what? Seriously? Oh god. Just, um, I don’t even know what to do. Look out for them? All right, mate, sure. Love you too. See you then.”

 

And then he’s picking Louis up and kissing him all over again and Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and Louis’ fairly sure the shoes on his feet are digging into skin but Harry doesn’t say anything but, “I love you,” and, “You're gorgeous,” and Louis doesn’t say anything at all, he’s too busy being distracted by the taste of Harry’s lips and tongue and _Harry_ and all too soon Louis’ phone starts to ring and he ignores it the first time in favour of licking every inch of Harry’s mouth, but when it rings again Harry huffs into Louis’ mouth and sets him down. Harry rubs his back where Louis’ shoes have left indents, but he’s smiling and says, “Answer it, Louis.”

 

Louis’ panting quietly, but answers anyway with a breathless hello. It’s management, wanting to know if they’ll still be performing tomorrow (if either is sick, basically) and after Louis hangs up he glances at Harry, who’s still smiling and looking mussed and toned and stunning, he steps out of his shoes and he’s back in Harry’s arms.

 

The rest of their day is lazy kisses and cute murmurs and quiet words and soft laughs and when they go to bed that night, hazy and satisfied, Louis decides Monday’s are his favourite day of the week now, and as Harry nuzzles into his back, whispering, “I’ll marry you one day and we’ll have kids and name them Ella and Justin or something like that and we’ll have a cat named Greg and he’ll be fluffy and at first he’ll hate us but then we can't go anywhere without him following us and we’ll live forever until we don’t and even then we’ll be together wherever we go and we’ll watch over the kids with Greg on your lap,” Louis decides that Harry’s his favourite person, too. They fall asleep quietly and the butterflies have settled completely and it’s still warm.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Weekdays Series (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028389) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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